


and doesn’t the night go slow? (when we are here alone)

by TooManyGaysTooLittleTime



Series: Daensa Week 2021 [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (it’s Lady im sorry), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Animal Death, Canon Compliant, Dreams, F/F, Glimpse Of The Future, Hopeful Ending, Implied Sexual Content, POV Daenerys Targaryen, POV Sansa Stark, POV Third Person, Past Khal Drogo/Daenerys Targaryen, Prophetic Dreams, Warg Sansa Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29556408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyGaysTooLittleTime/pseuds/TooManyGaysTooLittleTime
Summary: Written forDay 5 of Daensa Week on Tumblr, prompt: Spring Dreams.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sansa Stark/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: Daensa Week 2021 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2165004
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	and doesn’t the night go slow? (when we are here alone)

**Author's Note:**

> **Please see end notes for detailed content warnings.**
> 
> Title from [Night Go Slow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=acYpxd17eIc&feature=emb_title)[ by Catey Shaw.](https://open.spotify.com/track/6AWNMwzTLtF3OOhuekWvCW?si=Eh-M28svQSalLG8eDtPU0Q)

Even when Khal Jhaqo’s bloodriders bind her wrists together, even when the comfort of a horse is not given to her, even when Drogon disappears, Daenerys does not allow herself to give up hope. She _cannot_ give up hope, not now, not when she has come so far already. And so Dany stands proud when Khal Jhaqo approaches her with a mean smile upon his face, oiled braid swinging down his back. The braid is not quite as long as Drogo’s, yet, for it only falls half-way down his back, but still it marks him out as one to be feared. 

“Drogo’s _khaleesi_ ,” Khal Jhaqo notes with neither surprise nor anger in his voice.

“Once, I was Drogo’s _khaleesi_ ,” Dany corrects them, slipping easily into the harsh Dothraki tongue.

Khal Jhaqo does not move closer to her, nor does he reach out to touch her. His hands remain firmly at his side. “Yes, once, but you are _khaleesi_ no longer. You should have stayed with the _dosh khaleen_.”

She does not dignify Khal Jhaqo with the honour of a response, and he grunts before leaving her to her tent in silence. 

Daenerys drops to her knees on the floor once he has left, burying her face in her hands, and there she sobs, tears dripping from her eyes and moistening her palms, until all her tears have been spent. _The dragon does not sob_ , she tells herself, afterwards, though she knows it to be a lie. 

There are no handmaidens sent to her, no women with soft hands and silken dark hair to clothe her in leather vests and silks and rub Dothraki spices into her skin. She misses Doreah’s pale hair, misses the comfort of Irri’s touch, misses Jhiqui’s girlish laughter as she braided Dany’s hair in the Dothraki style.

The longing for home grows stronger, her spirit yearning for the promises that Viserys had offered. Dany’s stomach lurches, sickeningly, and there is only a moment gone before she has to duck outside to vomit out the horse-meat. She’s coughing by the end of it, her throat stinging harshly, and she crawls back into her tent on hands and knees, thankful that all the vomit has been expunged onto the grass outside rather than any falling onto her dirtied and muddied, but still beautifully made, silks. 

Exhaustion clings to her like the grit thrown up from the Great Grass Sea by the horses’ hooves, and Dany lies down on the floor of the tent with only a simple mat underneath her against the grass pressed down underneath. A stone digs into her arm, and she tries to ignore it, closing her eyes and allowing the blackness to flood in.

As soon as sleep settles in, though, the dreams return. In a vision, she sees through the eyes of a dragon, soaring over the Great Grass Sea; in another, Quaithe’s shadowy gaze stares into her very soul through the eye-slits of her mask. Smoke and shadows mar each of her visions, flickering away like patterns drawn in dust before Dany can ever fully glimpse one.

“Enough!” Dany screams, the noise reverberating around her head, and the dark smoke clears away to leave only a sunlit room. A girl sits at a table with a book spread in front of her. She looks to be far older than Dany, with auburn hair streaming down her back, and dressed in clothes unlike any Dany has seen in Essos.

The girl looks up, and her eyes are clear river-blue, kind. “Dany,” she smiles at her, and gets up from her chair. “Good morning, my love.” Then Dany feels arms being wrapped around her, but they are insubstantial, wisps of smoke fading away.

She wakes to bright sunlight streaming through the fabric of the tent, with the stink of horses in her nose rather than the sweet flower-scent that her dream had brought. And Dany feels her spirit lightening, and hope returning to her — although she could not say why. 

* * *

Sansa has dreamed this dream, many times before. She is under layers and layers of soil, and all she can see is darkness. Her arms and legs do not move when she tries to command them to, nor can she move even her head. The weight of the earth presses down upon her, paralysing her. 

The wound on her neck is old, the blood long since dried to brown, and there is nothing that may be done to repair her, to stitch her body back together again. She has been left alone, forgotten. A crumb of soil is in her teeth, and she wants to spit it out of her mouth, but she cannot, for her jaws are sealed open forever. 

Perhaps it is only a dream, but to Sansa it is horribly, agonisingly real. Her eyes are stuck open, but she sees nothing but the infinite darkness of soil above her, and she knows that nobody is coming to help her. She is alone, and her body — _her Lady_ , she thinks blurrily — is dead and lost under the ground.

Although she knows it is foolish, she tries to move again, but remains trapped. She tries to scream, but all her vocal cords have been cut and her mouth is stuck open and cannot move. 

Trying to hold on to that small piece of her that is _Sansa_ , and not Lady’s dead body, she forces her mind away, away, _away_ , remembering her place in the Vale, remembering that her name is Alayne, not Sansa, and she is a bastard. A noble lady with a dead direwolf and a bastard who never had a direwolf. They are the same in that they have no direwolf left. 

She awakes to a cold, empty room, with the little lord Robin Arryn dribbling at her chest, and a feeling of crushing loneliness. Pale winter light streams in through her window, and she throws the blankets away from her body so she can climb upon the bed and stand with her chin pressed to the sill of the window. Outside, snow whirls about the Vale, slowly spiralling downwards, and the air is cold on her cheeks. Sansa stands a little taller on her tiptoes, and nausea plummets through her stomach as she looks down, down, down, deep into the very depths of the Vale.

Although she may be alive, the Vale seems just as much of a prison as being buried beneath the soil that Lady lies under. 

* * *

_Queen Sansa is visiting the South again, to cheers and smiles from the people of King’s Landing. The best smile that she receives, however, is from Queen Daenerys herself as she welcomes Sansa back to the Red Keep._

_In public, they put on the deception that they are merely good friends, but in private, they are free to love each other freely. The staff of the Red Keep give each other knowing looks when Queen Sansa and Daenerys retire to Daenerys’s rooms, and make a note to change the sheets on Daenerys’s bed more frequently for the duration of Queen Sansa’s visit._

_“How I have missed you, my Sansa,” Daenerys whispers just before she presses her lips lightly against Sansa’s. “I try to find you in the letters that we write to each other, but it is no use, for nothing compares to seeing you in the flesh.”_

_“It is — ” Sansa lets out a gasp as Daenerys’s mouth finds her neck “ — the same for me, as well. I find myself unsatisfied by merely quill and parchment words, for they all seem empty without you here.”_

_Dany backs Sansa into her room, lets the door slam closed behind them. “No more talk for now, my Sansa. It has been a long while without the pleasure of your company, and my own hand alone for several months is not half as satisfactory as one day with you.”_

_Sansa moans brokenly as Dany kisses her again._

**Author's Note:**

> **CW: depictions of vomiting, animal death, depictions of a character thinking from the perspective of an animal who is dead and buried (pretty much buried alive), and implied sexual content at the end.**
> 
> thank you for your support so far with my Daensa Week 2021 — im planning on finishing with a bang! in the mean time, kudos and comments are heavily appreciated 💞


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